


Run when you have to, fight when you must, rest when you can.

by reliquiaen



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:35:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Skimmons 'Wheel of Time' AU nobody wanted. It got out of hand. Ten thousand words of I'm not even sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run when you have to, fight when you must, rest when you can.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from the books, said by Elyas Machera. I filled in a lot of stuff and any mistakes are just because I haven't read the books in a while. It's set after the Aiel War, but before the events of the books, so there're no conflicts of interests. I also did my very best to clarify within the story as much as possible so folks who are unfamiliar with the Wheel of Time aren't scratching their heads.

**980 NE**

 

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rolled eastward off the Spine of the World. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was  _a_  beginning.

With the breeze, moving much too slowly to offer any real relief from the oppressive heat, came a sense of quiet. Jemma fanned herself slowly, eyes fixed on the hills. She found it rather on the difficult side to completely ignore the dreadful warmth of the baleful sun. However, just because it made her want to curl up and cry, didn’t mean she was entitled to be unwatchful. Light only knows what could be lurking behind those rocks. No matter how many times she traversed this particular trail, she didn’t think she’d ever truly get used to the impending sense of death lingering over her.

At least the slow gait of her horse continued to keep her awake. As much as she’d like to heel it into a faster pace, she knew outrunning their wagon or their protection was just silly. There was no sense getting herself killed just because this Light-forsaken place gave her the jitters. That was ridiculous.

“Ward says there’s a place over the next ridge where we could stop.” She twisted in her saddle, skirts rustling, to fix her attention on her partner. Leopold Fitz urged his horse closer. His vest was undone, hanging loose from his shoulders and his shirt was unlaced. Next thing he’d have his boots off and a wet cloth tied around his head.

“Is that far?” she questioned, taking up her careful scan of the landscape once more. Aiel could hide in a fold of the ground she wouldn’t even stub her toe on. She knew better than to keep a lax watch. “I don’t think we’ll be able to go too much longer. The horses are tired.”

Fitz shook his head. “Not far, no.” He lifted a finger to point out a crumbling stone spire standing sentinel in solitude. “He said there was a larger rock formation near the base. We can wait out the heat of the day there.”

Her eyes cut up to check the progress of the baleful orange sun. Travelling in the Waste was a pain. Jemma sighed. “Alright.” When she glanced around for Ward, however, she couldn’t spot him. And he hasn’t developed the abilities of the Aiel. “Where is Ward?”

Fitz hunched a shoulder. “He grumbled something about checking our trail and back tracked.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “We’re _merchants_ , Fitz,” she exhaled. “The wagon leaves more trail than he could disguise. Besides, the Aiel know we’re here. The only reason we haven’t been stuck on the end of a spear yet is because they allow it.”

Her partner looked momentarily terrified before covering it with his usual placid expression. They traversed these routes every year – in winter, it should be noted – but still he harboured a not insignificant fear of the locals. To be fair, Jemma held a healthy respect for them also. But she knew better than to deal with them while panicking. That gave them the advantage.

No self-respecting Domani merchant would ever let a customer gain the upper hand. Her mother had trained her well enough for that, at the very least.

It took them another long, hot half hour to reach Ward’s stumpy spire of red rock. The man himself crouched beneath the overhang peering at the shimmering desert. His normal stony features were somewhat reassuring. So long as he continued to look both irritated and bored Jemma figured nothing untoward was going on. He did look as though he should be boiling in his high collared coat. Cloak too; the man was crazy. Amadicians.

At the very least, Jemma had to admit that the light clothing her mother insist she wear were finally serving some use. Honestly, the almost _sheer_ dresses her mother thought were perfectly acceptable had always seemed lewd to her. She’d never been much for them. Her dresses didn’t push the bounds of propriety (to her mind) but at least they weren’t stifling.

Maybe she shouldn’t judge Fitz too harshly. If she were wearing the same as he, she’d probably unlace a few ties as well.

Fitz guided the horses pulling their wagon into the shade and removed what tack he could. They’d be moving again soon, so there wasn’t much point in stripping them down. While he did that, Jemma stepped up into the back of their wagon looking for water and grain bags. She hoped they had enough to last the next few days.

She’d only just located the skin when a crash sounded from outside. The awful screeching sound was probably Fitz. Lurching to the back of the little room she froze on the steps.

A bloody _lion_ had charged right into their little space. _A lion_. Light have mercy on them. So caught up in there being a _lion_ running around, she almost missed the Aiel rising up out of the ground. Spears held low, bucklers up, black veils wound around their faces. They closed in on the _lion_ slowly, with terrifying purpose.

One of them feinted, another lunged, a third took a swipe at the lion’s hind feet. The creature obviously off balanced by the lightning attacks. It backed up, growling, not seeing a fourth Aiel (to be fair, Jemma hadn’t seen them either). The little warrior jumped from a ledge, point of their spear lancing straight down through the back of the lion’s neck. With a gurgling roar, the lion lashed out but the Aiel were too quick, dancing out of the way. It slumped over then, the last of its air whooshing out between fangs now rendered useless.

There was a beat of quiet before all four of the Aiel turned. One pointed a spear at Ward but the diminutive lion-killer flashed hands in a strange combination of gestures. Diminutive being relative, in this instance. The warrior in question was taller than Jemma, but the shortest of the four Aiel – shorter than both Fitz and Ward; unusual among their people. They were also the first to doff their black veil, revealing a pretty woman beneath. She had unusually dark hair for an Aiel.

“Apologies, wetlanders,” she said in the odd accent of all Aiel. “Our hunt led us astray.”

“But brought us to both shade and wares,” added one of the others, a man. He pulled his veil down also, bright white teeth beaming at them in an honest grin.

Slowly, the other two followed suit with their veils and Jemma could see the tension ooze from Ward’s shoulders. It’s not common knowledge among those to the west of the Dragonwall, but they’d been through the Waste often enough to know the Aiel only wear veils to kill. The last two – a man and a woman – seemed more hesitant. Although it didn’t take long before the second fellow was smiling too.

He lifted a tanned hand to wave at something Jemma couldn’t see past the wagon. “I would offer to replace your horse,” he chuckled. “Only I don’t have one to spare.”

The other three found some form of humour in his words as they laughed uproariously. Aiel and their strangeness. Jemma leaned forward far enough to realise the horse in question was hers. And deceased. Great.

A flurry of movement drew her attention away from the corpse while the Aiel sheathed their spears. “Might we share your shade?” the littlest one asked, head to one side, eyes fixed on Jemma.

Ward grunted. Fitz still looked rooted in place with shock, so Jemma sighed. “Yes, of course,” she told them. “Can I ask where the nearest watering hole is? We’re nearly dry.” She shook the skin still hanging limply in one hand for emphasis.

The men exchanged wary glances while the taller of the women flashed her hands in their odd hand-talk. Jemma wished she could read it. The small Aiel shook her head, fingers marking out a quick reply.

“There are no water holes for a long way,” the petite one told her. “We are heading to Stone Shields Hold, not far from here. There is water there.”

“Though you’ll have to stay outside,” the tall woman explained. “Only one may enter the hold at a time.”

“We have a strict roofmistress,” one of the men joked, earning an eye-roll from the tall woman. What a pain it was to think of them as such.

“My name is Jemma Simmons,” she said, stepping down from the wagon. “This is my business partner, Leo Fitz and our protection, Grant Ward. Don’t mind them.”

The small one offered a hand, obviously familiar with customs from beyond the Dragonwall. “I am Skye of the Serai Tomanelle,” she replied, grinning. “This is my spear sister, Bobbi. Those other fools are Tripp and Hunter. So that you may call us by name, Jemma Simmons.”

Thank the Light. Names were much easier than the other.

Tripp, the man who’d dropped his veil first, squinted up at the sky. “We should head back,” he muttered. “The sun sinks fast and we’re now burdened.” He made a point to indicate the corpse of the lion, but Jemma knew he considered them to be baggage also. Maybe the sun was only a hands’ breadth past the zenith, but the Aiel would take into account their much slower pace, so perhaps he was right.

Jemma stepped over to Fitz, keeping a concerned eye on the lion – not at all sure it was as dead as the Aiel seemed to think. She jabbed him in the shoulder. “Come on. Help me get the tack off the dead horse.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the wagon horses. “But I need to do them…” he protested weakly.

“Fine,” she sighed.

Jemma neither heard, nor felt when the slightest of the Aiel – Skye – sidled up beside her. “Would you like some help with the horse?” she asked quietly.

She blinked. “I’ll probably sound rude, but do you know how to get the tack off a horse?”

Skye laughed at her. “There is a first for everything. I’m sure it’s as simple as unbuckling the straps.” To demonstrate exactly how easy she thought it would be, Skye squatted beside the corpse and pried the girth strap loose. She worked with her tongue between her teeth, brows narrowed in focus.

“Hang on.” Jemma rounded the creature to grab its hind legs, lifting them so Skye had better access.

“I’m thinking,” Skye told her softly. “The hardest part will be getting the gear out from under it.”

Jemma nodded. “I agree. It’s a lot heavier than I thought.”

Skye’s hands whipped up, flashing more hand-talk Bobbi’s way. The taller woman rolled her eyes, a single wrist flick her only reply before she grabbed the front legs. Then Skye was up, bounding over to relieve Jemma of her task.

“It’s not as easy as I thought,” she admitted cheerily. “Your turn.”

Wrinkling her nose, Jemma crouched and twisted the straps. Definitely not as easy as she’d anticipated. Light blinded lion. Stupid creature had to go and kill her horse. She made a point of not looking at the wounds inflicted by the lion. Her stomach wasn’t strong enough for that.

Still, it didn’t take her as long as she might have expected to get all the buckles undone. When she straightened however, the next problem was moving the horse.

“Can we roll it?” she mused.

That took more time than the tack had. In the end, they had to get Ward to help them shift it and even then Jemma was concerned they might have scratched the leather. Once done, Jemma didn’t really know what to do with the body.

“I’m sure your beasts can drag it,” Bobbi said. “We’ll take it back to the hold.”

“What about the lion,” Fitz asked hurriedly.

“We brought a litter,” Hunter explained.

Fitz’s eyes widened. “You’re going to pull it back? Won’t that take forever?”

The two men laughed and even Bobbie and Skye chuckled quietly. “For you maybe,” Hunter teased. He turned away to help Tripp lash the lion to the litter.

Jemma was more than happy to leave Ward alone in tying the dead horse’s legs to the back of their wagon. She didn’t really want to think about it. Or where they were going to find another horse, for that matter.

“How far is it to the hold?” she asked Skye softly, trying to take her mind off it.

“Not far. I’d estimate an hour at the pace of your wagon.” The Aiel’s head fell to one side, a funny smile pulling at her lips. “Do you plan on riding in the wagon?”

She scoffed. “Of course not. It’d be sweltering in there. No, thank you. I’ll walk.”

Skye actually laughed at that. At Jemma’s withering look she rolled her lips together in an attempt to silence the sound. “As you say,” she consented. Her shoulders still trembled with amusement, though.

It turned out that perhaps Skye might have had a reason to laugh. They’d only been walking for perhaps ten minutes before the blistering heat searing through the soles of her thin ankle boots began to seriously burn. Skye didn’t laugh this time.

“You should claim the warrior’s horse,” Skye muttered to her, nodding at Ward. “His boots are more suited to this than yours.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Ward would never let me ride his horse. And Fitz’s is a little waspish towards anyone but him. I’m fine.”

“You are not dressed for the Three-Fold Land, Jemma Simmons,” she went on.

“I know. But I have nothing better to wear,” she sighed. “These are the best boots I own. And just Jemma is fine.”

Skye continued to eye her with worry but eventually nodded. The Aiel notion of honour at least would prevent her from forcing Jemma to do something she didn’t want to. So there was that.

“But perhaps when we reach your hold I could barter a pair of boots off you,” she grumbled.

This time, Skye beamed at her. “I would be happy to.”

For a while, they discussed banal things (“How do you _wear_ all that, Skye? Aren’t you hot?” “The fabric breathes, you know. It is designed for the sun.” “Well just looking at you is making me feel hot.”) and Jemma found it surprising that a conversation with an Aiel could be as entertaining as this. For someone who traded with them a lot, Jemma didn’t spend much time _talking_ to them. Or getting to know them, incidentally.

“What about the…” Jemma’s hands flailed wildly in an attempt to convey her query.

Skye’s eyes sparkled (brown eyes, she was rather atypical for an Aiel) but her laughter remained internal. “Maiden hand-talk,” she explained. “We use it to speak when silence is necessary.”

“Really,” Tripp added, trotting backwards past them. “What she means is they use hand-talk because even when they are not talking, they cannot stop talking.” He spun and raced off before Skye could punch his shoulder.

“Is it a language?” Jemma pressed, deciding to ignore the interruption.

“Yes. A whole language just for us.” Skye seemed delighted by the notion.

“And only the Maidens know of it?”

Skye’s dark brow quirked upwards. “You sound surprised.”

She shrugged. “I thought perhaps that if you use it often eventually the men would catch on.”

“Men are particularly dull and oblivious, Jemma,” Skye chuckled, rolling her eyes. “They wouldn’t understand hand-talk if they were given an instruction manual.”

Jemma had to laugh at that. “Can you show me some signs?” Skye’s lips tilted up in a smile. “You don’t have to actually tell me what it means,” she added hastily. “It’s just… your hands move too fast to see when you speak.”

“If you promise not to tell Bobbi,” she agreed, the light in her eyes not fading one bit. “She would not be pleased.”

“It’ll be our little secret.”

For nearly half an hour after that Skye contorted her hands into various shapes before having Jemma imitate them. She didn’t have a clue what Skye was teaching her. The signs didn’t come with translations attached. Not that Jemma minded; this language was for the Maidens. An outsider shouldn’t be proficient in their secret hand-talk. Still, Skye taught her which ‘phrases’ went together and pretty soon Skye was just laughing at how badly Jemma was mangling the sentences.

“No, no,” Skye managed around her chortles. “It goes like this.” And she blocked out the second-to-last sign again. “Your finger was bent too far.” She reached out and wrapped her fingers around Jemma’s wrists, positioning them correctly. “There.”

Jemma blinked at her hands. “So this is part of that last string?” she asked.

“Yes. Do the whole sentence.”

It wasn’t a demand, more of an expectation: a teacher wanting to know the pupil had learned the content. Slowly, Jemma’s fingers flicked through the poses, Skye’s eyes following every movement with a smile curling her lips. When Jemma hit the second-to-last sign she paused, waiting for Skye’s nod before transitioning to the last one.

“That’s right, you got it,” the Aiel said, bobbing her head enthusiastically. “Just like that.”

Experimentally, Jemma ran through the sequence again, wondering vaguely what it all meant. Probably some battle instructions. Skye’s gaze remained fixed on her fingers as she repeated the gestures. An odd light lingered in her dark eyes; at least it seemed so to Jemma. Whatever it was made the smile ghosting across Skye’s mouth seem… _dark_ , for lack of a better word.

Or perhaps Jemma’s brain simply did not wish to dwell on what the proper word might be.

“We’re nearly there.” Bobbi’s voice interrupted Jemma’s contemplation of Skye’s smile and her fingers stilled instantly, guilt welling up in her chest. Her eyes flicked Jemma’s way then settled back on Skye. Her lips quirked and her hands spoke something that had Skye rolling her eyes.

“Will you enter the hold, Jemma?” Skye asked her. An undercurrent rippled through her tone, but Jemma could not identify it.

For answer, she pointed at her feet. “You did promise me new boots.”

Skye’s laugh was honest then. “Very true. Your man and guard will have to remain out here. Don’t fret, they will be kept company. Once your arrival is noted, there will be many who would trade with you.”

Jemma blinked. “And inside?”

“You must negotiate with the roofmistress,” Skye told her with a shrug. “You seek water; she will grant it if you speak with her.” Jemma could swear Skye added a muttered ‘perhaps’ on the end of her sentence, but it was so soft she had no way to be sure. It didn’t bode well if she had, though.

As with all Aiel holds (or so Jemma supposed, having never actually _seen_ one), Stone Shields Hold was concealed quite well in the reds and browns of the desert. Those rocky outcroppings looped together here, providing a decent structure for defence and, Jemma noted with not a little bit of wariness, the stone left only one entrance, the rest was all high red rock too craggy and sheer for all but goats to traverse. And perhaps the Aiel also, she amended.

There were no gates, no guards barring the way in, no long lines of people waiting to be granted entrance. But the opening was concealed well enough that maybe they had no need for that. Though as their wagon trundled to a slow stop more Aiel seemed to appear out of nowhere, simply rising from the ground to trot closer. So they had no need for gates and door guards, right.

One very large fellow had his veil up and a spear in his hand, but most of the others seemed more excited to have peddlers to talk to. Skye’s hands flashed and a woman grabbed the veiled man by the arm. They had a hushed discussion and eventually he lowered the veil; the woman flicked her hands and Skye nodded, turning back to Jemma.

“I can take you to see the roofmistress now, if you wish,” she said enthusiastically.

“And Fitz can’t come with?” she wondered.

Skye’s eyes darted to look at him, obviously thinking something over. “No,” she eventually decided. “He must remain here.”

Jemma bobbed her head, feet shuffling uncomfortably. “Do you think I could get some new boots first? My soles are melting.”

A wide smile cracked across Skye’s tanned face. “Of course. Come.”

They walked slowly through the little group that had gathered around their wagon. Fitz lifted a hand towards her, an acknowledgement that she was leaving. The shade beneath the rocky spires was a marked improvement on the glaring sun outside, stepping into the shadows must have been an obvious relief for her. Skye simply smiled.

Jemma wasn’t sure what she would’ve expected from an Aiel town… Were they considered towns? But this wasn’t quite it. The space was tiered, buildings and pathways constructed into the sides of the little pseudo-canyon maximised the area available. Those closer to ground level were slightly taller, but the ones further up remained consistently taller.

“It’s for defence,” Skye told her as if reading her mind. “Archers on the high buildings,” she motioned up the walls, “can shoot over the heads of everyone below them. We can fill the entrance with arrows that way to give attackers a hard time.”

“Very clever,” she breathed.

Skye’s smile flickered into something else, something wry. “Did you not expect us to be clever?”

“What? No! That’s not…” Jemma trailed off as Skye laughed.

“I am teasing. Outsiders often think us uncultured savages.”

Jemma huffed. “I simply find it interesting. Your cities are very different to ours.”

At that, Skye’s eyes clouded over. “We have only one city. This is not it.” From her tone of voice, Jemma assumed that no more would be said on the topic.

So instead of pressing what was arguably the most fascinating thing an Aiel had ever told her, she questioned, “Do you live here then? You have a home?”

As quickly as it had arrived, the strange hollowness to Skye’s eyes vanished. “Well we are not nomads, Jemma. Though the warriors do travel more frequently. But yes, I suppose I do have a home here.”

Several of the Aiel they passed gave Jemma an odd glance, not quite threatening, but unsure. She got the distinct feeling that she was by no means welcome here. Skye didn’t seem too concerned by them, however, so she made no comment and followed her.

About halfway up the side of the canyon was a rather large and long building, it was here that Skye paused, motioning her inside. And this, by far, was not what she’d been anticipating. The room Jemma found herself in wasn’t a living room, but it was wide and open, cushions and rugs filled a depression in the ground and several doorless openings led into other rooms. A staircase sat against the far wall.

She blinked. “Is this your house?”

“House?” Skye’s eyes twinkled. “No. I belong to no house. This is the…” she paused, searching for the right word, “the accommodations for the _Far Dareis Mai_ when they need shelter here.”

“ _Far Dareis Mai_ ,” Jemma repeated slowly, thinking it through. “Spear Maidens? Oh right, that’s you. Maidens of the Spear, yes?”

“Yes.” And Skye seemed thrilled that she’d gotten that right. “The warrior society exclusively for women. Men do not step through that door.”

“And you all speak that hand language?” Clumsily, she twisted her fingers through the motions Skye had taught her earlier.

“That’s right.”

“You travel a lot?”

Skye shrugged. “We hold allegiance to our society rather than clan.”

Jemma’s head tilted as she thought. “You may have to explain that to me. Boots first?”

Skye nodded, still smiling happily and pointed towards the stairs. “Boots first,” she agreed. “Then speak with the roofmistress.”

“And then trade.”

Up the steps was another very long room, this one filled with more cushions. Spaced at irregular intervals down the walls were shelves. Some had stacks of books resting in them, others had trinkets, Jemma saw several with jewelled daggers and one had a shield hung on the wall above. Skye led her a little past halfway down the long room and dropped to a crouch.

“Do you sleep in here?” she asked softly.

Skye looked up at her. “Yes. Those of us who are here often enough keep our extra belongings here. Books are for all to read so long as they go back on the shelf from which they came.”

“And the other stuff?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Prizes from skirmishes mostly.” At length, Skye retrieved a pair of soft leather boots from a little trunk that Jemma hadn’t even seen pressed up against the shelf. “Here you are.”

Carefully, Jemma sat on one of the cushions and unlaced her shoes. While she was tugging the new ones on, and they were remarkably comfortable, Skye shifted beside her. Jemma glanced up in time to catch Skye as she pulled her shirt over her head and off. Immediately, she refocused her attention on lacing up her new boots and not the stretch of lighter skin across Skye’s stomach.

As if this were completely the norm for her, Skye folded her legs beside Jemma and sighed. Risking another glance, Jemma noted that Skye’s hand had found a tear in the fabric of her shirt. After a moment of frowning, Skye leaned back to her the small chest and began rummaging around, muttering under her breath all the while.

“I have…” Jemma stopped speaking to clear her throat. “Uh, I have thread if you need it.”

Skye’s gaze lifted. “Thank you. I was sure I had some. Apparently I was mistaken.”

Dropping one hand to the pouch at her waist, Jemma fished around until she found the needle and thread she kept tucked away for just such an occasion as this. Or well… the occasion in her mind was one of her skirts needing repair and there was never a half-naked woman involved. Skye thanked her softly and Jemma stood, trying to act as if she was merely getting used to the feel of the boots and not trying to avoid looking at Skye.

A statue of a bronze man caught her attention briefly, but then Skye spoke. “My apologies,” she murmured.

Unthinking, Jemma turned to look at her, instantly transfixed watching the muscles of Skye’s shoulders move as she sewed. There was an obvious transition across her neck and back where the skin was slightly lighter, it didn’t see the sun as often as her face and hands so wasn’t the same dark olive. Still, Jemma’s skin was markedly fairer in comparison.

As Skye pulled her now mended shirt back over her head, Jemma realised she still hadn’t spoken. “Excuse me? Why are you apologising?”

“I forget that wetlanders are sensitive to exposure.” Her brow creased and Jemma wasn’t sure if it was because Skye was worried she’d offended her or because she was thinking something through. Either way it was adorable. She waved a hand absently. “Indecency,” Skye eventually settled on. “I forget that you consider showing too much skin indecent. So I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh. No, it’s quite alright. Just unexpected is all,” Jemma assured her. “You should see some of the dresses my mother wears. Talk about indecent.” She wasn’t sure the real reason for her fluster would go over well, so it was better to pass it off as a joke. By far.

“How can dresses be indecent?” Skye wondered, handing her needle back and leading her towards the stairs.

“The fabric is very thin, almost see through,” Jemma explained. “And the dresses are always cut very close fitting with scandalously low necklines.”

“That sounds impractical and pointless,” Skye noted. “Why not simply wear nothing at all?”

“Oh the teasing nature of Domani women wouldn’t allow that,” she laughed. “Too upfront.”

The look Skye gave her said she wasn’t quite understood, but she smiled anyway and nodded. “You wetlanders really are strange.”

“How funny,” Jemma muttered. “We think the same of you.”

At that, Skye’s smile became more genuine. Once outside, she fell into step beside Jemma, leading the way towards the end of the canyon and presumably their roofmistress. “How come,” Skye began slowly, eyes on her feet. “How come you do not wear these sheer dresses?”

Jemma searched her face, something in her tone seemed off, but she couldn’t figure out what it might’ve been. “For the reasons you said,” she explained. “It’s impractical. And I don’t need men staring at me like that; I have a little more self-respect.”

“I’m sure your man would appreciate it though.”

That was more a statement than a question, and there was no light in Skye’s eyes this time to indicate that it might be joking. For a moment Jemma was confused. “My man? Oh you mean Fitz?”

“The smaller one, yes,” Skye agreed.

“He’s not… We’re not… Light. We work together is all.”

“Then I must apologise again.”

“No, it’s alright, really. You’re not the first person to think that. We’re just friends.”

Skye’s brow had knitted again. “I was under the impression that wetlander women were… reliant on their men? The only other women merchants I’ve met had husbands.”

Jemma grinned at her, bumping her shoulder. “That’s alright. A lot of women I know _are_ reliant on their husbands.”

At that, the furrow vanished, replaced by a smile. “Too good for them?”

She shrugged. “My tastes are a little different is all.”

Skye eyed her strangely again but didn’t speak, simply led her into another building. This one far more open than the last, there were only two walls, the back was curtained and the front too, only those curtains were drawn back and tied off. Inside was a table along the wall to one side flanked by lamps. There was just enough space around the table to walk between it and the bookshelves lining the wall. Opposite the table was a depression in the stone, similar to the one at the Maidens’ lodging, filled with rugs and cushions.

A woman stood by the table, hands braced against the wood as she peered at something written on the parchment in front of her. Jemma paused just inside, while not overly tall for an Aiel, the woman was intimidating, even at a distance. Skye stepped past her, heading straight for the table.

Her hands flashed briefly and the woman nodded. She moved around the table, piercing blue eyes meeting Jemma’s briefly before motioning to the depression in the floor. Skye smiled at her encouragingly so Jemma shuffled over.

“Please sit,” the woman told her, not unkindly but by no means friendly either. “I am roofmistress Melinda. Skye says you want water.”

Jemma’s eyes flicked to Skye who folded herself gracefully on the cushions. Slowly, she followed suit. “Uh, I’m Jemma, thank you for seeing me. Yes, we would be most grateful for water.” Her heart caught in her throat, convinced there was something else she should say, some social faux pas she was probably making that would end in her death.

Melinda’s gaze was unyielding. “You are merchants?”

“Yes,” she replied softly.

“You are not Oathbreakers are you?”

Skye made a sound at that but Jemma couldn’t look away from Melinda’s eyes. “No. No, absolutely not. I’m Domani and so is my partner. Our guard is Amadician. We never travel through your lands with Cairhienin.”

The roofmistress nodded gently. “Your wares are for trade then?”

“Of course. If we have anything you’d like you’re more than welcome to it.” Jemma wasn’t sure if they’d consider the items fair trade for water or not but she was willing to leave that invitation open to their interpretation. More could be made of it later. When her heart wasn’t pounding so hard she couldn’t hear herself think.

In the back of her head, her mother’s voice whispered that she shouldn’t let a customer get the upper hand. It was, however, admittedly hard to think of this imposing woman as merely a customer. Especially when they could kill her and take whatever they liked. Not that she expected any of the Aiel would do that without good cause, the fear lingered all the same.

“Do you need other supplies?” Skye asked gently. Briefly, Jemma wondered at the dynamic between them, all she knew about Aiel hierarchy was that it was somewhat loose.

“Oh, a horse if you have one?” she recalled.

Skye winced. “That is mine to replace.” Melinda gave her a fleeting look, but Skye simply flashed her fingers in more hand talk and they moved on.

“We should have enough food to make it to the next pass,” Jemma explained. “But we apparently didn’t bring enough water us this year.”

“You come through every year?” Something in Skye’s face shifted as she asked the question.

Jemma nodded warily. “Yes. When the weather permits it. Last year we couldn’t cross through the mountains for the rain.”

Before Skye could ask another question, Melinda put in, “How long will you be staying here?”

“Staying? We weren’t planning on being here longer than tonight,” Jemma murmured. “Though the horses could probably do with an extra day’s rest. If that’s not an imposition?”

“Two nights,” Melinda agreed. “Skye will find you provisions.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Melinda stood and went back to her table. Skye leapt to her feet and Jemma hustled after her. That might have gone well enough, but she saw no need to press her luck.

“You do not normally stay near holds,” Skye stated before adding, “do you?”

Jemma shook her head. “No, we usually deal with travelling Aiel. Fitz is a little… paranoid.”

Skye smiled quietly at her. “Perhaps, if you would like, I could teach you a little of our ways? It might help future negotiations.”

Jemma’s eyes went wide. “Did I say something wrong?”

Her reaction had Skye laughing. “Oh not particularly. Leeway is allowed for wetlanders.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to learn,” Jemma agreed.

 

\--

 

Ward was sent with Hunter and Tripp to fetch their provisions and Jemma was more than a little glad for it. As darkness settled around the holding and their wagon, more of the Aiel appeared to exchange wares. Fitz, pedantic as he was, insisted on overseeing them all. Deep down, Jemma was glad for that as well, having walked all afternoon, it was lovely to settle beside the fire fighting off the encroaching cool.

“I’ll have to see if I have something to give you in exchange for these boots,” Jemma muttered, watching the light dance across Skye’s face. “They are awfully comfortable.”

Skye merely smiled and tugged at the side of her shirt. “Your thread is keeping my clothes together. That is enough for me.”

“Well in exchange for a horse then. Why did you say it was yours to replace?”

She huffed. “I was too slow, my estimates all wrong. It is my fault your horse was killed. So it is mine to replace.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jemma insisted. “It was an accident.”

Jemma couldn’t be sure if the glimmer in Skye’s eyes was actually there or just a trick of the fire. “As you say.” After a moment she went on. “I will find you a horse in the morning.”

“Thank you. I’m honestly not sure what I could offer in trade, but I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You say you pass through the Three-Fold Land every year,” Skye began after a long moment, her words hesitant. “How come I have never seen your wagon before?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “The pass we usually take out was a few miles back. Part of the wall had collapsed and our wagon couldn’t get through.”

For a little while they were silent. Then, “I am glad for it,” Skye breathed, eyes fixed on the sparks darting above the fire.

Jemma watched her, but her face was unreadable; her meaning unfathomable. Which was probably for the best.

 

\--

 

“Thank you,” Jemma whispered, rubbing her hand along the neck of her new horse. “For everything.”

Skye shifted her feet slightly. “It was no trouble.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything to give you for the horse,” she added, frowning. “Are you sure you don’t want to check the wagon? I might have a book or two in there.”

She merely arched one shoulder. “Consider it a gift.”

Jemma beamed. “Well thank you then. He’s wonderful.”

After a pause, Skye lifted her hands and motioned through the string of gestures she’d taught Jemma. “May you find water and shade,” she said.

Jemma repeated the gesture. “Is that what it means? A farewell?”

Skye’s lips quirked upwards. “It is a type of farewell, yes.”

Excited, Jemma stumbled through the movements again. “May you find water and shade, Skye,” she repeated. She hoisted herself up into the saddle, arranged her skirts and waved a goodbye before following the wagon off into the desert.

Skye had given them a map to the nearest pass that their wagon could traverse and they made a beeline for it.

 

* * *

 

**981 NE**

 

The next year, Skye and Bobbi met them in much the same place.

“There’s not another lion is there?” Fitz asked immediately, much to Bobbi’s apparent amusement.

“No,” Bobbi told them happily. “Skye was hoping you would spend another two days at the hold before leaving.” Skye offered her the most venomous look Jemma had ever seen but Bobbi either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“What do you think, Fitz?” Jemma asked, twisting to look at him. “Can we spare two days?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, why not?” Fitz tugged at his reins and directed the nose of his horse off to the left. “I’ll go find Ward and let him know.”

“Be careful,” Jemma started to warn but Bobbi cut her off.

“I’ll go with him. We’ll meet you at the hold before the sun sets.” Her hands flashed something else and Skye’s face scrunched up before she fired off some jerky gestures that left Bobbi in a gale of laughter.

Skye huffed angrily and shook her head but when she finally turned to Jemma her face lit up. “I see you, Jemma, my water is yours.” She watched, confused then, as Jemma dismounted. “You won’t ride?”

Jemma laughed. “I see you, Skye. No, we consider it polite to be at eyelevel with those we think of as equals and since you don’t ride, I’ll walk.” Honestly, the look of shock on Skye’s face was well worth digging around in that Andoran library for however long it had been.

“The greeting…” Skye began.

“I did some reading on your people,” she explained. “I can’t say I trust much of it since it was written during the war and by a Cairhienin scholar, but that was among the terms. I figured since you used it, then it must be accurate.”

Skye made a thoughtful noise. “You kept the boots,” she noted after a moment.

“Oh yes, they’re the best boots I’ve ever owned,” Jemma told her. “Really, I’ll never be able to repay you for that. Or the horse,” she tacked on, patting the animal.

“Did you always wish to be a travelling merchant?” Skye wondered.

“No… not really,” she admitted after a moment. “I wanted to be a historian. I’ve always wanted to travel, sure, but I wanted to learn things about other places. Meet people and learn their ways.”

“You still get to do that,” Skye pointed out.

“I suppose,” Jemma consented. “My mother wanted me to be a merchant and what my mother wants, she gets. But there was no way I was staying in Arad Doman.” She hesitated. “Did you always want to be a Maiden?”

“Yes,” Skye replied straight away. Though there was something around the corners of her eyes that spoke otherwise. “Life is less complicated.”

“Fair enough. Women don’t usually fight in… in the wetlands,” Jemma told her. “We find it very odd.”

“Why do they not?”

“I… I actually don’t know,” she murmured. “Probably the men think us fragile, too weak for it. That’s the way it is.”

Skye clucked her tongue. “Men are fools,” she opined.

It made Jemma smile at least. “They can be, indeed.” For a moment they lapsed into silence. “Will you show me more hand talk?” Jemma asked in a small voice.

“Even if you don’t know what it means?” Skye asked, lifting one eyebrow.

“Learning the ways of other people, remember?” she joked.

That seemed to satisfy Skye anyway. For the next hour or so, Jemma watched as Skye formed more shapes with her fingers and followed along as best she could. The language was no easy thing to master, especially when she didn’t understand the syntax. But either way, the laughter that bubbled from Skye with every mistake she made was worth it.

“No, not quite,” Skye told her, grinning. “That is a completely different word, but makes no sense in that phrase.”

“Light, how easy would it be to accidentally insult you?”

Skye’s eyes twinkled. “That’s what you did.” Her fingers bent into the shape Jemma had made accidentally and shifted into the next shape. “Honourless dog.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jemma groaned.

“A mistake is all. This finger shouldn’t extend like that.” And Skye’s hands covered hers, helping her form the shape. In that moment, the red in her face wasn’t entirely the fault of the unforgiving sun.

“Like this?” Jemma checked, twisting her fingers a little slower.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Experimentally, Jemma moved her fingers into the shape she’d made before. “Honourless dog, you say? I might have to remember that one.” Skye laughed. “I read that there are other societies for warriors. Your friends, Tripp and Hunter, what are they?”

Skye blinked. “They are _Shae’en M’Taal_ , but from different septs and clans. They are not here at the present; off doing other things.”

“That’s… Stone… Dogs? Stone Dogs, is that right?”

“Yes, your translations are very good,” Skye said. “Most wetlanders don’t seem to know they are words at all.”

“I read a lot.”

The wagon rolled to a stop by one of the spires of the hold not long later, the horses relieved to find shade. Skye attempted to help with their tack, but as before, seemed to find it much easier to simply watch. Unlike last time, no cautious Aiel rose out of the ground to meet them and Jemma was only too happy not to be startled by them.

As the sun reached the horizon Bobbi arrived, leading Fitz’s horse. He sat slumped over the pommel, eyes closed. Something plunging lurched in Jemma’s stomach and she jerked off the ground, startling Skye as she stumbled towards him.

“What happened?” she asked as Bobbi pulled Fitz from the saddle.

“Your friend,” Bobbi grunted. “We found him talking to a pair of men by the cliffs.” She nodded her head in the general direction she meant. “They didn’t appreciate our presence, apparently. One of them loosed an arrow at us and then they ran into one of the tighter passes.” She sat Fitz by the small fire and Jemma sank to her knees, inspecting the wound. “I found this not far from what was probably the camp.”

She must have passed the item to Skye because there was a sharp intake of breath. Jemma was much too focused on the arrow sticking out of Fitz’s right shoulder. It didn’t look fatal but his forehead was hot and a sheen of sweat glistened across his cheek.

When Jemma looked up, with every intention of going to get whatever medical supplies they had, she was surprised to find two other Aiel standing there. Skye was having a fierce conversation with them, almost comical standing nearly head and shoulders shorter than them both. But they nodded eventually, consenting to whatever she’d told them.

“This is Mack,” Skye told her, motioning to a very large Aiel. “He’s going to take Fitz to our healers.”

“Can I go with?” Jemma asked, horrified at the warble in her voice.

Skye shook her head sadly. “No, you must stay here. He’ll be fine, the healers can help him.”

Gently, Mack picked Fitz up as though he weighed no more than a feather. He nodded at her once before loping off into the night. The other Aiel was already gone, leaving her with Bobbi and Skye.

Staring into the fire was all Jemma could manage for a good long while. Skye sat beside her not speaking, but her silence was a different kind of comforting. At length, she remembered what Bobbi had said.

“What was it?” she asked, looking up at the tall Aiel. “The thing you found.”

Bobbi hesitated before holding out a notebook. Jemma took it warily, wondering what had prompted Skye’s reaction. She flicked through the pages, but all it seemed to her was a list of numbers and locations. Until she reached the back cover, at least. Inside it was scratched a curving talon in black charcoal.

She dropped the book; nearly it landed in the fire except for Skye’s quick reflexes.

“Ward,” she breathed, eyes wide. “He…”

“He is a Shadowrunner, yes,” Bobbi muttered, sinking down beside her.

“So it would seem,” Skye added. “You did not know?”

Jemma’s gaze whipped around to her. “Know? How could I have known? _I’m_ not a Darkfriend. Oh this is horrible.”

Skye’s eyes searched her face for the longest moment of her life. Then she nodded. “No, you’re no friend to the shadows. I am sorry about Fitz.”

Hesitantly, she reached for Skye’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Do you know what the numbers mean?” Bobbi mused.

“I…” Her teeth clicked together and she let go of Skye’s hand to take the book. This time she paid a little more attention, looking for patterns. “Oh,” she breathed. “Some of these are dates Fitz and I were at certain places.” She placed a finger on the book. “Here. These three are the days we spent in Tear last month. I don’t know what these ones are… That one there looks like it could be Lugard… Could be that it’s a list of days he expects to be in certain places. Though this here is wrong. We left Amador the day before because the Whitecloaks were doing some riot containment and we couldn’t stay.”

“Perhaps he was using your business as a means of contacting other Shadowrunners,” Bobbi muttered. “He could have been transporting items or information between them.”

“Light blind me,” Jemma exhaled. “I’ve been helping a Darkfriend.”

“There’s no way to tell, Jemma,” Skye consoled her. “They are experts at remaining undetected. No doubt some will set out in the morning to track them down.”

Bobbi’s hands flashed in a moment of talk to which Skye replied only briefly. Whatever was in their exchange left Bobbi grinning and Skye trying not to look satisfied.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Jemma exclaimed, bouncing to her feet.

She passed the book back to Bobbi and rounded the wagon, stepping inside. She rifled through her drawers before finding what she was after and heading back outside. Skye was standing when she returned, looking puzzled.

“I know Maidens don’t wear jewellery,” she murmured. “But there was a Sea Folk trading vessel at harbour in Illian last spring and they had these and I don’t know, I guess I thought of you.” She held out the leather thong in one hand, firelight glinting off the white edges.

“What are they?” Skye asked, taking it slowly. “Teeth? Are these teeth?”

“You know what fish look like, right?” Jemma asked, face scrunching up, wondering if that was offensive.

Skye just laughed. “Yes, I’ve seen fish before.”

“Well imagine a fish that’s bigger than that lion you killed,” she explained, smiling now. “Giant fish with pointed noses and black eyes that cut through the water like knives. Sharks, they’re called; they can kill a man with one bite and they have mouths full of teeth just like that.”

“Giant fish?” Bobbi asked, sounding disbelieving.

“Huge,” Jemma insisted. “I have a drawing of one in a book somewhere. They’re really quite impressive.”

Skye held up the shark tooth necklace and ran a thumb across the serrated edges. “Thank you, Jemma,” she whispered. “You’ll have to show me your giant fish one day.” Then she looped the leather around her neck and tucked the end into her shirt.

Bobbi, it seemed, found it hilarious, her hands flashing again and this time Jemma was certain she saw Skye’s face flush beneath her tan. When she had her cackles under control, Bobbie took several steps away from the fire. “I’ll go see how Fitz is doing for you then,” she said. She was laughing again before disappearing into the night.

“What was funny?” Jemma wondered, sinking back down to the ground.

Skye sighed. “Gifts are given to Maidens only… to display interest,” she explained, that faint colour still in her cheeks. “Some men do it in the hopes of winning their favour.”

“Oh.” Suddenly Jemma was feeling flushed as well. “Um…”

“It’s alright,” Skye interjected before Jemma could apologise. “My uh… _tastes_ are a little different. Is that how you said it?”

Yes, now she was positive her skin had turned a shade of red that would be embarrassing in and of itself. “You can consider it in exchange for the boots or horse if you’d like,” Jemma said in the smallest voice.

“No,” Skye said, surprising her entirely. “It is a nice gift. Thank you.”

“Alright then.”

“That is what you meant, isn’t it?” Skye asked quietly after a moment. “I’d like to be sure.”

Jemma’s heart felt like it was punching her rib cage, she rolled her eyes at herself, feeling foolish. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Can I ask about the gift giving thing?” she wondered.

Skye smiled. “I read that in the wetlands the men ask the women for their attention, is that true?”

“It is.”

“Here it is the women who have that power. A man may make his interest shown by giving gifts.” Her fingers touched the spot over her clavicle where the necklace rested almost absently. “But the woman has the power to either accept or decline, to… court him or ask for marriage. The man must accept the response either way. And a Maiden, who is married to her spear, may never take a man without casting aside her weapons and sisters. It is not done by very many.”

Jemma paused, considering her words carefully. “It’s… sort of a loophole, don’t you think?”

Skye lifted a questioning eyebrow.

“A Maiden can’t take a man,” she repeated. “That rule says nothing about other women.”

And that tugged a smile across Skye’s lips. “True. Perhaps that is a loophole worth making use of.”

Jemma took a deep breath, screwing all her courage to the sticking place before leaning over and kissing Skye’s cheek. Better to regret things not done, so her mother said. Skye blinked at her when she sat back.

“Sorry,” Jemma muttered. “I just… Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Skye replied, voice equally soft. Her hands moved again, the same set of gestures she’d taught Jemma the year previously. Only this time there was an extra shape on the end.

Falteringly, Jemma mimicked the signs. Her eyes flicked up to meet Skye’s when she finished, waiting.

“May we see the sun rise together,” Skye told her, hands moving through the motions as she spoke. The extra gesture was left out again. Jemma didn’t question it. “When Fitz is well and you leave,” she began carefully. “Would you like me to take you to the pass?”

Surprise jolted through her. Not what she’d been expecting. “You don’t have to do that,” she assured her. “I’m sure there’s some rule against fraternising with wetlanders.” Jemma tried to inject her words with levity, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.

Skye’s gaze remained steady. “I wouldn’t be the first Aiel to leave.”

Jemma blinked. “Really?”

She nodded, almost solemn. “Of course not. They go west for many reasons. Not many, but some. Most don’t come back. They wouldn’t be allowed to. Only when the Stone of Tear falls may we leave. But some go all the same.”

Her mouth opened a few times, but she had no idea how to reply. “I… I couldn’t ask you to do that, Skye.”

“Your guard is gone,” she pointed out reasonably. “And a Shadowrunner, he might try to kill you. Unprotected, there are plenty of people who’d harm you. I…” she faltered. “I would not like that to happen.”

“But… Are you–?”

“Fitz will be well.” Bobbi’s voice appeared before the woman herself. When she emerged from the darkness, she crouched across the fire, smiling. “Melinda says you may stay until he’s healed. In a few days most likely. Mack is taking a band of _Rahien Sorei_ in the morning to find the Shadowrunners.”

“Will they be killed?” Jemma asked.

“Yes, better dead than to let them spread their lies.” Bobbi tilted her head to one side. “Did you want him alive?”

“No. I want to never see him again.”

“You won’t.”

“Good.”

“Do you have any food?” Bobbi asked.

“It’s in the wagon,” Jemma told her. “You can take what you like.”

Bobbi nodded as she stood. “You should eat.”

“I’m not sure I could stomach a meal, honestly. But there are some biscuits in there if you’d grab them for me?”

Skye, thankfully, waited until after Bobbi had collected food and cooked it over the fire; a stew was all they had provisions for, but neither she nor Skye complained. When they finished, Skye gestured something to Bobbi. It wasn’t a particularly long string of signs, but whatever she’d said turned Bobbi’s face white.

“You’re _what_?” she demanded of Skye. “You’re not serious?”

“I am.” Skye’s reply was almost stern, she’d accept no argument on whatever topic it was they were discussing.

“Why?” Bobbi’s question was accompanied by a few quick flicks of her wrist.

“Yes.”

After that they returned to purely hand talk and Jemma was left watching their faces instead. There wasn’t much to go on; they kept their features schooled perfectly for the most part. And yet Bobbie seemed… upset perhaps? Definitely confused and perhaps a little insulted. Skye’s expression remained adamant.

At length, Bobbi huffed and stormed off.

“Is she alright?” Jemma asked.

“She’ll be fine. She’s just concerned that I’m being rash.”

“Are you?”

Skye eyed her carefully, something in her eyes softening slightly. “Perhaps.”

 

\--

 

It took three days before Fitz was well enough to walk and another two before Jemma deemed him well enough to ride his horse. She wouldn’t let him sit in the wagon; he’d die of heat exhaustion. Thankfully, the Aiel didn’t seem to mind that they were there nearly a week. In fact, most seemed to enjoy having them to trade with and discuss the strange wetlands.

Bobbi didn’t reappear for the entire duration.

Skye didn’t look worried at all, but Jemma was. Just a little; she liked Bobbi.

Sometime on the fifth day, in the mid-morning, Mack returned with his handful of _Rahien Sorei_. Jemma looked up when they passed the wagon. Mack stopped to hand her a pocket watch. Ward’s.

“Keep it,” she told him, pressing it back into his large palm. “I don’t want anything of his.”

Mack nodded. “I’m sorry for what he did.”

Jemma just shook her head. “Thank you.”

“You say that a lot,” Skye mentioned, watching Mack and his friends move into the hold.

“I have a lot to thank people for.”

Skye touched her elbow gently. “Some merchants I’ve met don’t see things the same.”

“It’s good to be polite,” Jemma insisted. “It makes people easier to get on with.”

Skye’s smile twisted in a way that turned Jemma’s insides to goo. “Is that why you’re nice to me?”

She huffed a laugh. “Maybe a little. And maybe I just happen to like you.”

Skye’s teeth flashed but she had no time to say something witty before Fitz shuffled through the entrance. He had a quarterstaff clutched in one hand, leaning heavily on it, his other arm wrapped in a sling. A woman in wide brown skirts and a loose white blouse watched him closely, the woman on his other side wore similar garb to Skye only with a heavy set of belt pouches.

“I’m fine,” Fitz was insisting to them both. “Honestly, I can walk just fine, thank you.”

The woman in the blouse clucked her tongue but wore a smile. The other with her greying hair and lined face was less inclined to believe him. She reached out to steady him as he tripped on a rock and he squawked.

“Bloody women,” he grumbled as he neared Jemma and Skye. “Won’t leave me alone. They keep prodding me.”

“Wetlanders are so clumsy,” the older woman said. “It’s a wonder he made it this far unaided.”

“I’m not clumsy,” Fitz all but snapped. “I was shot with an arrow. Not an everyday occurrence for a merchant, let me assure you. So excuse me for not being able to shrug it off like I do that every day.”

The old Aiel sniffed at him. “Come, Audrey. I want nothing more to do with the ungrateful wretch.” The younger woman let herself be led away, but she waved farewell.

“Let’s be off then, Jemma,” Fitz grouched. “I want to be as far away from these people as possible by nightfall.”

“He’s grumpy,” Skye noted.

“He’s been shot, Skye, give him a break. He’s right, this doesn’t happen every day.”

Skye just rolled her eyes.

“Can we make it to the pass by nightfall?” Jemma asked her.

“Yes. Do you have provisions?”

“In the wagon.”

“Light curse you, Jemma,” Fitz called. “Say goodbye to your girlfriend and let’s go.”

Again, Jemma was sure she could see red flicker across Skye’s face. “Are you sure about this, Skye?” she pressed not for the first time. “You said yourself that there’s no coming back.”

“I’m willing to take a chance if you are.” A diplomatic reply.

Still searching her face for any hint of indecision, Jemma nodded. “Alright then. You don’t want to ride with me, do you?”

Skye laughed. “I will walk, thank you.”

The wagon had barely started rolling before a cry came from behind them. Jemma twisted in her saddle to look behind them. Bobbi was standing by the base of a rocky spire, several other women with her. From their spears, they were all Maidens.

Bobbi loped over to them, the others crossing the distance more slowly. “Leaving without a farewell were you?” Bobbi accused, her tone good-natured regardless of the intended bite.

“You knew where to find me,” Skye fired back. “You were hiding from me.”

And then they fell into hand talk, fingers moving so fast it was a wonder they could interpret any meaning at all. In the end though, Bobbi was grinning. She clapped Skye on the shoulder and signed something one handed.

Skye beamed in reply. Then she trotted back to Jemma’s horse and touched her knee softly.

“May you find water and shade,” Bobbi called. “And may we meet again.”

Skye tugged at her reins and the horse obligingly followed after their wagon. Behind them, the Maidens drummed the ends of their short spears against their shields. The disjointed clatter following them with a sense of finality.

“What the bloody hell are they making that racket for?” Fitz yelled at her from his place beside the wagon, guiding their horses.

“They are saying farewell,” Skye told him, leaning forward so she could see him past the horse. “For luck in the future.”

Fitz blinked at her, uncomprehending. “Um, not to be rude or anything, but why are you here?”

“I’m coming with you,” Skye told him cheerily.

“Is that allowed?”

She laughed. “I make my own choices, Fitz. The Three-Fold Land does not own me.”

“Huh. Well alright. You’re not a Darkfriend are you?”

“ _Fitz_!” Jemma cried.

“What? The last time someone travelled with us he turned out to be some twisted follower of the Dark One and I don’t want to be shot again.”

“I promise,” Skye managed around her laughter. “I am no fiend.”

“Well good then.” He was silent a moment, thank the Light. But then he opened his mouth again and Jemma was sorely tempted to sew it shut. “And if you hurt Jemma I’ll hog tie you and drop you off at the gates of Cairhien with a note saying that you personally killed Laman.”

“Oh, _Fitz_ ,” Jemma sighed again.

“I would like to see you try,” Skye told him, still grinning. “But you have my word. And may I never know shade if I break it.”

 

\--

 

Two more days it was before they crossed the Spine again into the west. The last hills of Jangai Pass sloping away before them. And of course, it had started raining in the last half mile.

Skye’s eyes just about fell out of her head. She stepped away from the overhang they’d found and stood with her face up, droplets rolling off her cheeks. Jemma helped Fitz get a fire started before ducking past the wagon to stand beside her.

“Have you never seen rain before?” she asked.

“No. Never. Most of our water comes from deep wells and springs. This is… incredible.”

Jemma smiled at her, struck by a warm bubbling sensation in the pit of her gut. Skye brushed a hand through her hair, her smile tinged with awe as she flicked water to the dirt.

“You’ll catch cold if you stand in it for too long,” Jemma told her, hoping to get her back under the overhang.

“Really? Like an illness?”

“Yes. It’ll make your nose drip and your throat itch. It’s awful.”

“Rain does that? I’m glad we don’t have it now.”

“Come on,” she chuckled. “Try and stay dry for me.” She slipped her fingers between Skye’s, with every intention of leading her away. Skye had other plans, apparently.

Instead of following Jemma, she pulled her closer. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.” That strange glimmer was back in Skye’s eyes and the bubbling in Jemma’s stomach increased tenfold.

“You’re welcome,” she breathed.

Tentatively, Skye tipped her head forward, her lips pressing against Jemma’s. Instinctually, Jemma’s fingers wound into her shirt, holding her tight. For a moment, she was more than happy to forget that they’d both end up sick, especially when Skye was so warm, her palms solid against Jemma’s hips.

“Oh for the love of… Light have mercy on me, will you two _stop_ please.”

They snapped apart at Fitz’s voice, both whirling to see him standing by the back of the wagon, his arm still in its sling leaving him mostly useless. She felt Skye stiffen, no doubt embarrassed, Jemma was sure she’d read somewhere that the Aiel didn’t feel comfortable with public affection. She just rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing, Fitz?” she asked, despairingly as she dragged Skye out of the rain.

“Well the fire is one thing, Jemma, but we need food too. If you’re not too _busy_ maybe you’d like to help.”

She sniffed at him but stepped up into the wagon to find their food for the evening. When she emerged again, sack of provisions in hand, it was to find Fitz telling Skye that she’d need a change of clothes. Obviously, because anyone could tell an Aiel from a mile away. Skye looked distinctly unhappy with the notion.

“Perhaps just in a different colour,” Jemma interjected. “And maybe don’t wear the veil in public. People probably won’t like it.”

Skye grinned at her. “I think perhaps it will be nice to learn your ways.”

Jemma smiled back, thinking that it just _might_ at that.


End file.
